


Is That A WereWolf in Your Pocket or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

by AraSigyrn



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-03
Updated: 2011-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:11:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraSigyrn/pseuds/AraSigyrn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the KrisFansUnite Fandom Auction for the lovely <a href="http://maryet34.livejournal.com/">maryet34</a> who was kind enough to accept 'AccidentalPornstar!Werewolves' as the basis for her story.</p><p>It's more like 'Accidental!Sextape-audition-Werewolves' but otherwise the plot is as above.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is That A WereWolf in Your Pocket or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

Here's how Kris' life was supposed to go; graduate high school, go to college, be a teacher, marry Katy and settle down in his hometown to raise their kids. Kris might have dreamed of making music but only his family really thought anything would come of it. On his last year of college, Kris signs up for a missionary trip to Africa.

It's as close to an act of rebellion as he thinks he's ever going to come. Cale and Charles sign up too but between Cale's aunt needing him home after her hip replacement and Charles falling for a bleached blonde called Mandi and running off to Vegas, it's only Kris who actually goes.

He's grateful for it; grateful for the chance to go and grateful for the perspective it gives. Kris is aware of ever last second of his college time running out and the looming shadow of tramping back to his old high school to teach in the closed in box of his home town like the rest of the world isn't even there.

Kris is in Africa when he's bitten. It's not one of the locals, which Kris could kind of understand - werewolves are notoriously territorial after all. It's one of the new guys from a church in Delaware.

His name is Dillon and frankly, Kris thinks he's kinda a dick. He's a big blond guy, former football player with a big alpha sign tattooed across his chest. Kris knows he's a werewolf and tries really hard not to let that color his attitude. 'Wolves are still barely legal in a lot of ways even after the Civil Rights Act and Martin Luther King's courageous defense of 'all the minorities, those dispossessed and disadvantaged who suffer under the injustices of a law that does not cater to their needs and their abilities'.

Arkansas isn't the most progressive of states but a werewolf that doesn't hurt anyone isn't any different in Kris' momma's eyes than anyone else and Kris inherited her no-nonsense approach to folks that are different. That's what makes Dillon notice him.

Dillon's the kind of guy who never says anything unless it makes him seem more important or it cuts someone else down. He thinks he should be king of the world and acts like he's already been crowned. Most of the kids, white middle-class kids from suburban homes, are already nervous. Tiffany, one of the girls who came out with Kris' group, starts wearing all her silver jewelery and making excuses never to be alone in the same building as Dillon.

Kris watches the way girls try not to look at Dillon even when he's being obnoxious and sprawled out on a deckchair while they try to clean around him. He sees the way the guys who are too honest and too plain nice to suck up to Dillon cluster together, defensive and vicious.

"A'right," Kris deftly hooks the leg of Dillon's chair and pulls it out from under him. He'd never dare do that to a 'normal' kid but super-fast reflexes and rapid healing mean even if Dillon doesn't catch himself, Kris isn't going to kill the guy. "You've been sitting there for like an hour, dude. Time to chip in."

Dillon lands on his ass and rockets right back up to tower over Kris, shoulders hunched forward and lips pulled back just enough to show the gleam of his teeth. Kris stares up at him. Dillon's a big guy, got at least five inches on Kris but Kris tips his head back and meets Dillon's stare head on.

"I don't see you cleaning."

"You don't fucking talk to me like that," Dillon snarls.

"I talk to you same as I talk to everyone else," Kris says flatly. Guys like Dillon aren't ever satisfied with just letting stuff be. If Kris backs down, Dillon's going to make his life a living hell forever. "You don't want me to talk to you like that? You do your damn job, Dillon."

Dillon glares down at him but Kris refuses to look away. Dillon snarls and spins away from Kris to grab the mop out of Tiffany's hands. Kris breathes out and goes back to dusting the pews. He thinks that's the last of it but apparently he's the only guy who's ever stood up to Dillon because Dillon keeps pushing, keeps slacking off and making Kris call him on it again and again and again.

Kris grits his teeth and just keeps pushing through. He calls his mom and tells her that he's not staying the extra three months and promising to be home for Christmas. He doesn't notice Dillon behaving any differently but Tiffany will tell the inspector and constables of the National Kenya Police that Dillon had been staring at Kris and following him back to the guys' huts without Kris noticing for at least two weeks.

Kris remembers later that he was packing; he'd bought some carved wood figures for his mom and was putting them in his suitcase. He remembers the tacky humid heat and the buzz of mosquitoes on the the far side of the nets. He remembers the dry dusty smell of earth and the green leaves of the tree outside. He remembers hearing something and half-turning. He remembers that first bite, the crushing pressure that sparked into white hot pain a second later and he remembers that from the first bite, Dillon broke the skin.

####

Adam Lambert, son of Leila by Eber, is born a wolf. His mom tells everyone that Adam's first shift was right there in the hospital nursery in Louisiana. The nurse had screamed blue murder but Adam had only been a puppy, a small black fluff-ball of fur with only the over-sized paws and tail to hint at the height and mass he was going to grow into.

From the first, Adam is a natural werewolf. He never buys into the 'inner wolf' bullshit that some of the modern 'Wolves talk earnestly to chat show hosts about. Adam is always Adam, on two feet or on four. He slips between his forms easily and casually until his mom makes him understand the importance of clothes and why he needs them. Sequins and glitter feature heavily in her ten year campaign.

His family move to San Diego as soon as Adam is old enough to make the trip; his dad claims that it was purely for his job and it'll be nearly twenty years before Adam is smart enough to know better. Louisiana isn't a safe place to be a cub; the catch-and-neuter laws that replaced the 'shoot on sight' laws after the civil rights act only get repealed in 1978 and there's too many back corners and mostly-empty highways with an old trooper for Adam to ever be safe.

California isn't some sort of lupine Mecca either; San Diego is a nice pleasant town with some of the most comprehensive anti-discrimination laws in the country. Adam's school mates never lay a finger on him but that doesn't mean he gets out of high school without the emotional scars. He's overweight, gay and frightened that everything anyone says to him is true. Even if he wasn't a werewolf, his life would have been hell.

Adam doesn't go to college. Instead, he loses weight, moves to LA and starts singing professionally. Musical theater is terrifying but Adam learns how to be open about everything he is. Some people hate him for being a Wolf, some people hate him for being gay and some people hate just him because he's there. There's nothing Adam can do that's going to make everyone like him and he's learning to be okay with that.

Trixi, a statuesque drag queen who shifts into the smallest, most adorable red wolf Adam's ever seen, puts it best. "You aren't ever going to be able to stop people hating you but you can try to make sure that the only people who hate you are people you don't want to have liking you. Guys like that Phelps nut job. You can tell a lot about a man by the guys who hate him."

####

Kris doesn't ever remember his first change - the authorities keep him sedated because there's a whole snarl of legal and medical ethics involved. 'Wolves have very shaky legal rights in Kenya. While there's a tolerance among the normal people because 'Wolves are stronger, better herders and diligent farmers, that tolerance isn't reflected in the laws.

Maryann, the mission's legal adviser, tells Kris later that if Dillon had bitten a Kenyan that he'd probably have been hunted down by the community and they'd probably have attacked the mission and the other Americans. She sounds breezy and matter-of-fact, almost like she's praising Kris for taking one for the team.

Kris can't be sorry that Dillon didn't bite one of the local people; he knows everyone for five miles around the mission. That doesn't mean he doesn't hate Dillon a lot during those endless, hazy weeks. The drugs make his guts hurt: Kris can't keep anything that isn't meat in his stomach for more than a minute: he's barely capable of processing his sensory overload for the first few days.

He dreams in fevered flashes of running. The backdrops change from forests to empty cornfields to abandoned cities. Kris is searching (hunting) for something. He wakes, still fuzzy and confused, with the aching feeling that he's lost something.

The four weeks before he gets sent back home under armed guard are the longest of Kris' life.

#####

"I need to get laid," Adam tells Brad grumpily. "It is not fair that people expect me to be at the auditioning for dancers when I haven't gotten laid for _weeks_."

"Boo hoo, poor little rockstar," Brad snorts. "Life isn't fair, baby-cakes and lately it has been massively unfair in your favor"

"You are a terrible friend," Adam kicks a pile of takeout menus off the couch and sprawls out. "I remember why we broke up now."

"Excuse you! I broke up with you, asshole," Brad snipes. Adam's heart clenches a little because yeah, he doesn't exactly need the reminder. He misses Brad a lot these days, even if they talk on the phone for hours every day and meet up at least three times a week. "Why don't you hit a club?"

"Because the only people who go to any club I'd be willing to be seen dead in are pack-Wolves," Adam bitches. "And I am _so_ not in the mood for being freak-of-the-week for some slumming queen from Weho right now. I want to fuck someone. Really, honestly _fuck_ someone. Which rules out practically everyone I know."

"Yeah, humans are so _fragile_ ," Brad scoffs. Adam isn't sure if Brad's mocking him or agreeing with him.

"Full moon next week and all the little college boys are out to get their cherries popped and their necks chewed," Adam mourns. "Even if I could find a 'Wolf to hook up with, it wouldn't matter. I don't want to be _careful_. I want it to be hot and hard. I don't want an Omega or a B-"

"Or a Beta," Brad finishes over Adam's awkward pause. "No shit, Adam. There is a reason we didn't even work out as fuck buddies. You're an Alpha. You're looking for an Alpha."

"Yeah," Adam sighs and tips his head back. "Oh and while I'm wishing? I want a pony, leather jeans that don't ride up my ass and a week off."

Brad laughs at him and Adam smiles. Brad's good for him, a natural Beta despite his sharp tongue and take-no-bullshit attitude. They're good together; they're just not enough for each other. Brad wants someone who isn't as pushy or bossy as Adam can be and Adam...Adam wants someone who doesn't have to fight every single decision Adam makes out of a misplaced need to challenge the stereotypical Beta image.

Adam objects to having socio-political issues dragged into questions like 'what do you want for dinner? I'm thinking Chinese.' He sighs one last time before letting Brad talk about the next coffee/deli that's opening just down the road and his newest audition.

#####

"Hi, my name is Kris."

"Hi Kris."

"And I was bitten in Kenya fifteen months ago." Kris looks down at his hands and counts to five before looking up. The circle of people are staring dully at him and none of the five 'Wolves will hold eye contact with him. One of the others, a swan or something, keeps smiling at Kris. He's a nice guy, Kris is nearly sure, but he has long teeth and every time he smiles, Kris bites back the urge to snarl. "I got sent back home and they put me on Zoploft as soon as I could. I went on all the courses and everything but I-I guess I just didn't fit there. I always dreamed of coming to LA and getting a music contract someday and I figured, you know, why not?"

Kris carefully doesn't think about how all of Conway had started to smell of fear or how people he'd gone to school and church with his whole life started crossing the road when they met him. His mom and dad had soldiered on but Kris' hyper-sensitivity to any sound or scent (upper 3 percentile among 'Wolves, according to his counselor) meant they were always grating on each other.

Kris' mom had cried when he'd left but she'd smelt of relief.

"Well that's totally possible," Swan-dude's tone is perky. "You guys are all hot in the music business right now. Just look at Adam Lambert!"

The group nods and there's some desultory conversation about Adam Lambert. Kris swears again that as soon as he finds a library with working internet access and a tolerant 'Wolf policy, he's going to look the guy up. The dingy grey library that hosts the meetings smells of bleach and rotting plastic underneath the reek of unwashed bodies and despair.

Kris' counselor suggested Theiranthropes Anonymous as a way to find a pack. "Packs are a big deal in California, Kris. You need to find one to take you in."

Kris still hasn't found a pack but this is his fourth meeting. He's working under-the-table jobs at warehouses just to make rent on a shitty apartment that probably would be riddled with crooks if it wasn't 'Wolf territory. He works sixteen hours a day most days and his guitar is still carefully packed away.

The meeting breaks up after another twenty awkward minutes. Kris stays for the biscuits and coffee because he's hungry and sick of fried food. One of the other 'Wolves, an older lady with a defiant streak of crimson in her tired grey hair, moves to stand beside him. She keeps her eyes on the biscuits and fidgets until Kris glances sideways at her.

"You said you were lookin' for a job?" She mumbles at the plates.

"Yeah," Kris glances at her again and she stiffens.

It takes a few seconds before she relaxes enough to pull a scrap of paper out of her pocket and thrust it at him. "They're always looking for 'Wolves. Call Gerry, he'll hook you up. 'm not saying that it's glamorous but Gerry's jobs pay good most of the time."

"Thanks," Kris hugs her without thinking. The lady - smells of cheap makeup and exhaustion - doesn't hug him back but when he lets her go, there's a small, pleased smile on her face.

#####

"Adam, baby-doll," Trent's voice makes Adam's hackles rise and he lifts his lip just enough to let the very tips of his teeth show. It's seven in the goddam morning and Adam has been awake for fifteen minutes. There is no coffee. Adam is just not in the mood for aggrieving assistants. "We've got the numbers in and you're officially number one."

Trent does a limp-wristed clap that makes Adam bristle more; Trent had been introduced to Adam's team after the first single and Adam is counting the days until he can legitimately throw the guy back at 19E. Trent is straighter than a ruler but he thinks Adam will like him better if he acts gay.

Trent's idea of gay-appropriate behavior is heavily modeled on 'Will & Grace', specifically on 'Jack'. Adam is one high-pitched giggle away from tearing Trent's throat out. The only reason he hasn't actually fired the guy is that Trent knows how to get people talking about Adam and with Adam's rock career rising so fast, any publicity is good publicity.

"We're thinking it's about time for you to have your first scandal," Trent continues. "Nothing _criminal_ of course. We're thinking that it might be time to play up the _animal_ in you."

Adam does snarl this time and there's a satisfying jolt of fear in Trent's scent.

"Nothing like that, Adam," Lane interjects hurriedly. "Sex tape! We're thinking of a sex tape!"

"I haven't had a boyfriend in months," Adam's fangs distort the words and Trent's fear-stink spikes higher. Adam swallows back the irritation and feels his fangs retract. "Who exactly are you proposing I should have a sex tape with?"

"We were thinking of hooking you up with Chris Pine or someone from Hollywood but that would be too contrived," Trent says, checking his iPhone. "Gotta save that for the next one."

Adam can feel the headache coming on. "So what you're saying is that you want me to go out - in my non-existent free-time - pick up a guy, take him back to my apartment which hasn't been cleaned in weeks and fuck him for the camera."

"Oh, no," Trent laughs and Adam nails dig furrows along the top of the table. "Baby, this is LA. We'll hire someone."

"You want me to make a sex tape with a HOOKER?" Adam demands. He is entirely too sober for this conversation. He can't even imagine what Brad is going to say about Adam hiring a hooker for his sex tape. Actually, scratch that, Adam can imagine _exactly_ what Brad is going to say.

"It's not like that," Lane interrupts Trent mid-cackle. "There are a lot of people looking for work in LA, we'll just hire one of them. What could go wrong?"

Adam's _doomed_.

#####

"Okay, if you'll just wait here," the woman smiles at Kris and he has to struggle not to bare his teeth back at her. The other Wolves Gerry had recruited for the 'interview' were all Betas and Kris could feel the prickle of wolf-instincts rising every time a human steps into the room. He doesn't like the way the humans look at them. They never meet any of the Wolves' eyes and every time one of the Wolves speak, there's a second where the humans look almost surprised. The whole thing reeks of that slightly superior contempt people have for zoo animals.

The identical blond assistants smile at them with the fake warmth of a Taco Bell cashier and reek of amused contempt as they roll their eyes at each other like there aren't twenty plus Wolves watching every move they make. The whole thing makes Kris think of Mrs Atkins who lives down the road from his parents and has lived there for years and spent the whole time Kris was recovering talking loudly to his mom about dog runs and if his mom would need a license for him.

It probably doesn't help that all they're wearing are boxers and old bathrobes.

He doesn't nod like the others do when the pompous man who is saturated in enough Axe to make Kris' head hurt starts lecturing them. Kris looks around at the decadent set; the leather drapes and silk cushions littered with freakishly huge bottles of lube. He shivers absently as the blond assistant goes back outside but Kris doesn't really notice the chill. He's too wrapped in the gnawing dread that someone from back home is going to see this and tell his momma that he's doing porn. Kris is pragmatic enough to know that he doesn't have a choice; the day work has dried up almost completely and the money Gerry promised would pay Kris' rent and bills for three months. He really needs this job.

He had expected to be uncomfortable, already braced for teasing about his blushing virgin act. Kris hadn't expected that that nervousness would translate to aggression. He's caught himself growling half a dozen times as he strips and lets strange people look him over. The growl simmers just under his breath and Kris flexes his hands slowly as the man picks out ten of them. All with brown hair and eyes and varying traces of Southern accents. Kris sounds like a hayseed compared to most of them but they cluster around him, baring their teeth at the humans and keeping their eyes carefully averted as they creep closer to Kris.

He doesn't like being here and the other Wolves are crowding closer, looking to him to protect them. The jagged stink of fear smooths out of their scent as they get closer. There are two Wolves smaller than him; most of the rest look like professional body-builders but no-one seems to notice and one guy who is easily twice Kris' size tucks in to his side, almost close enough to touch.

Kris doesn't blame them. The people smell of fear/contempt and body-wash but there's a scent underneath it; Wolf-scent. Gerry had told him, blunt and crude, that humans were fascinated by the higher sex drive of the Wolves. "They might not let you in the front door, not unless you're a brass-balled bastard willing to rip their throat out for the privilege. They'll always be happy to open the back door for you, though."

Sex-work is...not what Kris wanted to do with his life. Kris is starting to have more second thoughts (and third and fourth) - in fact, he thinks he's on nineteenth thoughts by now. He doesn't want his first time in front of the camera, with some stranger who is probably going to be terrified and panicky.

"Alright, boys," the man giggles and Kris bristles. "Ten minutes! Get your inner wolves all tucked away and ready!"

It takes all the self-control Kris has not to snarl. He doesn't bother trying to reach for his 'inner wolf' because Kris is pretty certain that he doesn't have one.

The counselor his parents had hired back in Arkansas spent pretty much all their sessions, after the first round of tests locked Kris in as an Alpha, trying to get Kris to embrace his 'inner wolf' through meditation and visualization exercises. Kris had tried his hardest, sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed and his senses filled the smell of his room and the sounds of his whole life spinning away. He's never managed it; Kris isn't the kid he was back in Kenya but he isn't some sort of bipolar monster either. The instincts are new, Kris' lizard brain rewired to take his new senses, his new strength into account but Kris is still just Kris, alone in his head.

When he'd gotten to LA, he'd tried to learn more about the 'inner wolf' and how you found it. It turned out to be even harder than he'd dreaded. There isn't a lot of information out there if you're not part of a pack; most of the charities and support groups target non-Alphas. It's estimated that Alphas make up between 3% to 15% of the werewolf population. The Alphas are the backbone of the pack and they're only ever born werewolves. Kris has never even heard of a bitten werewolf being an Alpha before. His counselor had talked about how much that would interest a Pack but the enthusiasm had felt like Kris was being pimped out to the Packs.

Standing in the middle of a porn set with more humans eying him like he's a side of meat makes Kris' hackles rise in exact the same way. Kris is about two seconds away from just ordering them all out when he catches the scent of another Wolf. Another _Alpha_ Wolf.

Kris growls.

#####

Adam manages not to be there when the initial crowd of amateur porn-stars arrive. Trent has promised that they'll all be Wolves and certified clean. Adam growls at the thought which means he has to explain why he's growling to Brad. Brad's instinct for Adam doing embarrassing things remains flawless even two years after they've broken up and he rang as Adam was contemplating the ceiling in Trent's office.

"I don't see why you couldn't just go out and pick someone up," Brad remarks archly. "It's not like you're that bad looking."

"Thanks," Adam snorts.

"Seriously, babe, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"It's sex with a Wolf," Adam shrugs. He's not thrilled about it but there are some really fun toys and Adam's aware of the lazy itch rising. It's two days to full moon and Adam's feeling twitchy. A good long fuck with a willing partner should be just what he needs to settle. "And you should see the props! They've got like ten types of lube, some really twisted plugs-there's a whole toy room here."

"You're like a kid in a candy store," Brad sighs but Adam can totally hear the jealousy.

Lane interrupts the giggling to tell Adam that his potential partners have been narrowed down from like a hundred to thirteen. Adam arches an eyebrow at her. "Are we doing an orgy? I thought we were only doing 'family-friendly' porn."

"No, I mean," Lane waves her hands. "Yes, we are but Trent thinks you should choose the guy you want now that we've narrowed down the field."

Adam says goodbye to Brad who makes a crack about LA's meat market that has Adam craving one of the burgers that the cheap greasy diner down the block from their old apartment specialized in. He dabbles in vegetarianism during the new moon but the rise of the full moon brings all his primal urges to the surface. Given Trent's probable taste in men, Adam is betting the burger would be more satisfying.

He rolls off the couch and follows Lane out into the 'set'. He is at least sort of enthused about the decor. Trent had given him catalogs, a Sharpie and told him to pick out whatever he would like for a bedroom. Adam particularly likes the drapes - butter-soft leather with loops of polished steel links holding them up - but he doesn't get a chance to look around before his entire attention catches on the scent of another Wolf.

There are other scents but only one that lights up Adam's brain like a fireworks display. The smell of that other Wolf nearly knocks him off his feet. Adam feels the shock like a rush of hot water through his veins and his mouth falls open just enough to be able to breathe in the other's scent. He turns to look but there are other people cluttering up the room and none of them smell right. Adam's growl is instinctive and there's an immediate echo.

Trent and Lane are still talking at him. The other Wolves – probably the Betas that Trent promised him - recoil a little but The Wolf, the one with the scent that smells of long summer nights and the anticipation of a long Friday night of clubbing and desire, just growls again. He's tiny, a pocket-size Wolf who tips his chin up like Adam isn't bigger/stronger than him. Adam pushes Trent aside to get to him.

There's danger threading through the air, sharp-edged and electric. The other Wolf is all attitude and gritty determination. He's not stupid enough to think that he can take Adam but he'll still go for his throat if he thinks he has to. His boy's got to be an Alpha.

Even with Adam practically nose-to-nose with him, crowding into his personal space and a growl riding his breath, his boy keeps his eyes up and fixed on Adam. It's the first time a Wolf has kept eye-contact so long since Adam first came to LA. That's not just pride speaking; Adam's backed down Alphas like 19E's Clive Davis, old and established with a Pack the size of a small army behind him but this kid, half Adam's size if that, meets his eyes like Adam's just a punk with straw in his hair.

They're both growling and Adam has to work not to notice how perfectly harmonized they are. His boy must have a kickass voice. Adam can't wait to hear it fucked-out raw and gravelly. A shift in pitch reminds him that this isn't a done deal. Adam's scent must reek of sex and come-hither but there's nothing like that in the other Alpha's scent. His boy smells of aggression and nerves and he's growling like he's working himself up to a fight.

The air smells like gunpowder over the plastic stink of lube and deodorant. The other Wolves - they're all Betas, Adam is nearly certain - scurry back behind his boy. There are too many people, Adam reminds the part of his lizard brain that wants an audience to see Adam mix up his scent with his boy's to prove his claim. The part of Adam's lizard brain that is actually paying attention to his boy tells him flatly that if he makes a move in front of an audience, his boy is going to rip his throat out.

"Out," Adam growls. Something is clicking in the background and there's a hum of electronics. The other Wolves bolt. Trent is still talking, a tedious babble of sound that is fucking distracting. Adam is snarling now and Trent goes away. Adam loses interest the second Trent gets the fuck out of his way and he can hear the door close behind him. His boy is standing up straighter and Adam's smile shows all his teeth. He's certain now; this boy is an Alpha, one that smells of sunshine and cookies baking in the oven instead a Pack or a mate.

His boy surprises him again by closing the distance between them. They crash together, not quite violent but the threat of it crackling between them. There's no holding back, Adam doesn't hide the savage edge or the feral _want_ as they brawl across plush couches and silk cushions, tumbling and shoving at each other. There's confusion in how his boy reacts, always just shy of violence and his arousal is nearly drowned out by the frustration and confusion.

He's frowning, face crinkling up like Adam's something totally new and strange. He doesn't look repulsed but he's still adorably confused and in other circumstances Adam would be totally hooked. As it is, he rolls them over hard enough to knock a gasp out of his boy and takes advantage of that one unguarded second to slide his hand down past the sagging waistline of his boxers to curl around a half-hard cock.

The other Wolf's eyes open wide and his pupils dilate. He sucks in a startled breath, stomach pulling in and _blushes_. Adam groans, hips rocking involuntarily against the firm muscle on his boy's thigh.

#######

Kris' skin feels too tight - like the need to change but different. His fingers are tingling and there's a wash of heat up along his spine that raises goosebumps. He feels a nervous jittery energy building that makes him shiver. He can't look away from the towering Wolf with bright blue eyes who has one huge hand curled around his dick. He smells of incense and a heavy musky scent that makes Kris blush. It's sweaty, filthy sex condensed into a single breath.

He's panting, heaving in lungfuls of the other Wolf's scent and Christ, this wasn't the audition he was expecting!

The Wolf/guy's hand is a little rough along the pads of his fingers; not quite callused and Kris' hips hitch just a little. The grip on his cock tightens, just a fraction but the tingling surge of pleasure makes Kris groan. He ruts his hips up again, chasing the flickering feeling. He wants _more_.

Kris has never been that interested in sex; he's jerked off to thoughts of sports models and kissing Katy but it's scratching an itch; fun for the moment but nothing earth-shattering. He's never felt like this, the clawing urgent _need_. He doesn't even know what exactly he wants the guy to do just that this loose, almost accidental jack isn't enough.

He feels exposed, the bathrobe lost and his carefully-laundered boxers sagging under his balls as he squirms. Kris should be feeling embarrassed, sprawled half on a rug with silk cushions scattered around him while a guy who looks like he stepped straight out of a rockstar Playgirl pants over him. The guy's gaze is hungry through and he's growling low and deep in his chest, utterly focused on Kris.

Kris claws at the guy's jacket, feels the grain of the leather and it's wrong/false. He wants skin, wants to feel the blood racing and taste the sweat. His nails snag and tear and he's growling in his throat, ripping away the jacket with reckless greed. He isn't being careful. His self-control is just enough to keep from ripping through clothes and skin and all. He still smells a dash of blood, coppery and rich, but the wolf growls and arches his back. He's pale, dusted across the chest with dark hair that is just shot of stubble. The skin underneath is smooth and Kris rakes his nails lightly down along his chest, ripping furrows in the t-shirt.

The guy laughs, deep and wow, he's got a gorgeous voice. Kris twitches and the guy's hand tightens enough to make Kris gasp. The guy shrugs casually out of his ruined clothes, only the slightest flicker of impossibly long, dark lashes betraying a moment of unease. Even his scent is mostly confidence, only the very faintest tinge of worry almost lost under the pheromones and Kris' breath catches.

He can't even begin to imagine how this guy doesn't _know_ how attractive he is. He must have Wolves and humans panting after him every second of the day and night. He's tall, handsome and there's something else that Kris' fevered brain can't put words to - 'sex on legs', like Cale used to say about the cheerleaders - that draws him in like a magnet.

He stares up at him, panting and the guy searches his face. They're too close to be able to hide anything; what Kris' expression isn't telling the other man, his scent will. He shivers with the force of his heartbeat and pushes up, strangling a moan as the hand around his dick finally _finally_ tightens.

#####

Adam can't help the satisfied smile when his boy growls, fucking up against the casual grip around his cock. His boy is still flushed and the needy twitches of his hips are clumsy, inexperienced. Normally, Adam likes his lovers experienced. Virgins have never been a kink that Adam's ever had much interest in but he feels the rush of selfish glee at the thought that no-one has touched his boy, no-one has seen his boy naked and hot and greedy for touch.

His boy isn't shy, though. He's glorious; uninhibited, muscular and assertive, nudging up into Adam's hand and growling when Adam doesn't move fast enough. The half-grown Alphas that Adam's tumbled into bed with before were never this uninhibited or hedonistic about what they wanted. Sex between unmated Alphas is all aggression and a pitched battle for dominance that Adam doesn't bother with.

Adam's boy is different; he doesn't submit but he yields to Adam's touch, responding and luxuriating in the feel of it. He's probably the single most beautiful, perfect thing that Adam's ever seen or had under his hands.

He tears Adam's clothes off and Adam half-tenses; there's a lot of testosterone still in the air and the threat of violence is still there. He relaxes a little as his boy shreds his t-shirt, obviously more interested in the skin underneath. The sting of sharp-tipped claws just grazing the skin blurs along the line between pleasure and pain but Adam's shiver makes his boy growl again.

His inexperience is obvious; the way his eyes widen when Adam finds a sensitive spot and his scent spikes wildly between suspicion and the smokey hot flavor that means need is clawing through his veins and boiling in his gut. It sets Adam's blood to smoldering just breathing it in. The warm weight of his boy underneath him and the gloss of clean perspiration across perfect golden skin makes Adam feel like his skin is going to burst and the look in his boy's eyes makes Adam painfully hard.

He's used to seeing the hungry gleam in his lover's eyes; Adam likes sex and he's good at it. The wonder in his boy's eyes is something else altogether. Adam's been in the business long enough to be jaded about the way people see him. Anyone can be called a sex god if the stars in your eyes are big enough; look at Mick Jagger for fuck's sake. Adam's used to people seeing the air-brushed Adam LambertTM when they look at him.

That can't be what draws his boy in – his face still creased in lines of angry/confused emotion but a steady pulse of growing lust swelling up in his scent - or what makes his eyes go dark and hooded as he stares up at Adam, lips parted and pink. Adam wants to taste that mouth, wants to slide his cock between those lips and leave them red and bruised. He wants to leave bruises on that gorgeous golden skin and walk him through the streets of Hollywood in front of the desperate and the soulless with that just fucked-look in his eyes.

But the real reason those split-second fantasies make Adam's cock swell and his blood race through his veins is that he _can_. He can taste his boy's open desire and the way they fit together - better than anyone Adam's ever fucked, better even than he clicked with Brad - feels solid and good.

There's a frown on his boy's face and his hand tightens, nails pricking the back of Adam's hand, sharp enough that they must be more than halfway to claws even though the only clothes Adam has left are the artfully torn jeans. Most of his lovers keep those sort of slips tightly locked down like the wolf-side is an STI. That doesn't mean he isn't comfortable, just that he wants Adam to man the fuck up and he wants to come.

There's enough sweat to make his palm slippery and Adam closes his hand, hiding his smile as he twines the fingers of his free hand around the hand still against his chest and brings it to his lips. His boy makes an uncertain throaty sound and Adam thinks that he's going to take him to a hotel after this, one of the suites with four-poster beds and pool-sized bathtubs and keep him there for a week.

His boy's breath hitches with every deliberate stroke, reactions open and natural. He's so beautiful that Adam's heart squeezes tight around the warm bubbly feeling. He's dizzy with want, shifting his grip and slowing his tempo to draw it out. He wants to know where his boy likes to be touched, what makes him moan, what makes him scream and he wants to do all of it until his boy is slack and fucked out and then Adam wants to pull him close and sleep curled up until the moon rises and they run together. Then he wants to do it all over again.

Going slow clearly isn't acceptable; his boy curses, the words slurred around his Southern accent and the underlying growl. He hooks his legs around Adam's waist and rolls them over so he's straddling Adam and working his hips so he's fucking into Adam's hand like he hasn't figured out he can do more and whining in his throat.

It's such a _virgin_ move that Adam can't help the startled laugh that escapes. His boy snarls, baring teeth that are just a little too long - a little too _sharp_ \- to be human. Adam keeps his shoulders loose and relaxed, jacking his boy a little faster and seeing his eyes roll back even as Adam lets go of his hand to reach for the huge bottle of lube they knocked to the floor earlier.

"That's it," Adam croons as his boy falls into a rhythm, working his hips against Adam's with unpracticed urgency. "Work with me, baby."

 

####

"My name is-is Kris," Kris grits out. It's hard to keep the words straight. He feels like his blood is boiling and bubbling away in his veins as the guy's hand makes sparks go off behind his eyelids. "Kris."

He's not sure why he's insisting; it's not like this guy gives a shit. Kris is just another body but some stubborn remnant of pride makes him insist. He's going to make this guy remember him.

"Nice," the guy pants and Kris can smell steak and something sweet and alcoholic on his breath. He's half-sitting now, breathing against Kris' collarbone.

"Call me baby again and- _fuck_ ," Kris tips his head back as the guy rubs his thumb just under the head of his dick. Kris' whole body locks up like there's a electric current connecting his brain to the guy's hand. He has to try twice before he manages to suck in enough air to finish the sentence. "-and I'll bite your hand off."

His lover (does it count if it's hand-jobs, part of Kris' mind wonders) laughs but it's warm, almost affectionate and he leans close enough to drag his tongue along the hard line of Kris' collarbone. Kris shivers, the damp trail cool against his over-heated skin and the guy shifts his grip.

Kris jerks and feels something press between his cheeks. He can't help the blush - the guys who were there for the audition were unshakably professional but the prep had made Kris squirmy and embarrassed just thinking about it. Another glancing brush of lips, this time against his nipple and he forgets to clench up.

The first finger feels huge and invasive and wrong. He can't help the soft-edged sound that escapes and the guy leans in to nip at his chest. Kris twists and the guy's hand moves on his dick and the two sensations jar together uncomfortably. Kris tips forward, hands flat against the guy's chest and head hanging as he pants through the careful probing. The lube feels too-wet and slick but the guy's being almost gentle as his finger crooks against the tension in Kris' muscles.

It feels ...strange in way that Kris can't articulate even in his own head. It's not a bad strange, though his muscles twitch and ache around the crooking finger. He's half-adjusted to it, able to breathe deep and steady against the feel, when the guy brushes something that makes Kris see stars behind his eyes. He chokes as the air leaves his lungs in one big rush, like someone punched him just under the ribs.

"Kris," the guy's voice is urgent and he's frowning. Kris feels a shudder of embarrassment as he drags in a breath full of the scent of worry/lust/craving/need/protective emotion that the guy is leaking. "Fuck, are you okay? Do you need me to stop?"

The words are a breathless babble but his eyes are searching Kris' face and both his hands are still. Kris manages to nod, head lolling down between his shoulders as he breathes. The guy cranes his head up to kiss the point of Kris' chin, the soft place under his ear and he's crooning softly in his throat. He isn't fucking moving though and Kris manages to get a growl out through open-mouthed pants.

His lover - and Kris isn't second-guessing that title anymore - touches their lips together, just enough for Kris to taste the berry/plastic gloss on his lips. The asshole doesn't so much as twitch his hands and Kris half-snarls/half-whines and rocks his hips back in a savage, needy twist.

######

Adam's thorough and careful, straining not to feel the pulse of blood through his dick. He hasn't been this hard since he was a desperate teen, horny and convinced that every second before orgasm was hell. He can feel the need to sink into Kris and fuck him senseless and slack but it's something he can ignore in favor of the delicious sounds spilling from Kris' bitten-pink lips.

When he brushes Kris' prostate this time, Kris nearly screams and his head snaps back, baring his long throat. Adam's instinct demands that he sink his teeth into that soft skin and hold fast until Kris gives in. There are scars - jagged ruptures under quivering pulse and his Adam's apple - and Adam snarls soundlessly. Someone hurt Kris, someone tore into Kris' skin and muscle and spilled his blood and Adam wants to kill them.

The pulse of murder in his scent must be palpable but Adam's rage proves the final impetuous. He needs to fuck Kris, needs to feel him coming apart under Adam's hands and mouth as Adam fucks him; marks him so that no-one will touch him every again. Kris straightens as Adam sits up, sliding his fingers out and guiding Kris' knees to the cushions on either side of his hips. He drags his hand down the length of Kris' cock one last time before he takes hold of Kris' hips.

Kris' hands settle on his shoulders and he looks down at Adam. His eyes are wide and he's biting his lower lip, nostrils flared and heart racing. Adam feels the speed of his pulse under his hands and in the almost imperceptible tremors running through Kris' arms as his fingers dig into the cords of muscle in Adam's shoulders.

He looks at Adam and there's a flicker of nervous determination as Adam guides him slowly down. Kris' breathing shortens to panicky little bursts even as he sets his jaw. Adam leans up to take his mouth in a proper, deep kiss as he breaches Kris in tortuously slow inches.

Kris is insanely, heart-stoppingly tight around him and Adam focuses on the taste and texture of his mouth. He won't - _can't_ \- last long but this is so perfect, so hot, that Adam fights to draw it out as long as he can. Kris is thrumming with tension and Adam kisses him deeper, dragging his tongue against Kris' as he shakes.

Adam has to break the kiss just to breathe; tucking his head into the curve where Kris' shoulder becomes his neck. He can't smell anything but Kris and sex and he swallows wetly as Kris settles tentatively into his lap. They breathe together, Kris' heaving breath makes Adam's hair move and they're both sweaty, naked and twined so thoroughly that Adam can't imagine where to start unraveling them. Not that he wants to.

They stay like that, overwhelmed and disbelieving, for an eternity. Adam can feel the need to move but it's distant and unimportant compared to the reality of Kris around him. It's Kris who grunts, hips twitching unsteadily and Adam's hands tighten. There's a thrill of greedy pride at the thought that Kris will be wearing his bruises tomorrow and the next day and maybe even the day after that.

"Fuck," the word is obscene when it spills from Kris' bruised red lips and he pushes down with his hips, breath stuttering as Adam hisses. "Fuck, God, _move_!"

"It's Adam," Adam manages but his hips are pushing up and Kris's eyes go midnight-dark as he gasps. Adam growls and rolls them so Kris is on his back, legs sprawled and pins his hands over his head. Adam fucks into him, hard and deep and Kris hisses. He meets Adam thrust for thrust, hips angled up and he howls when Adam hits his prostate. Adam growls again and Kris tips his head back, the dark blue cushion behind his head contrasting beautifully with his skin but his fingers wriggle until he's threaded their hands together.

Adam's rhythm falters for a second and Kris squeezes his hands deliberately, canting his hips up. "Fuck me. Come on, Adam. Fuck me."

Adam sinks his teeth into Kris' bared neck, crushing him into the cushions as he fucks him. Kris howls, wolf-pitch rising through the human rasp. Adam can smell the rush of pleasure rising. Kris' nails raise stinging lines down his back and Adam growls into his neck. Kris is moaning as Adam presses him down until he can feel every breath and every beat of Kris' heart. They roll together, blood and sweat and sex and Kris is chanting his name as the heat boiling along his spine ignites. Kris clamps down around him and Adam throws his head back to howl with the taste of Kris' skin and blood filling his mouth and Kris' scent and the feel of him surrounding him.

His last coherent thought is how right his name sounds in Kris' fucked-raw drawl.

 

##### #####

"-should have seen Trent's face," Brad can't bite back the laughter as he snaps his phone shut. "Stupid asshole. I don't know what the fuck he was thinking."

"There was thought involved?" Kris sounds adorably snarky and distracted by what sounds like a very acrobatic effort to fit into the jeans Brad picked out for him. Really, this is why Kris is Brad's favorite Alpha.

"Point," Brad tucks his phone away. "And don't think that I haven't noticed that your adorable little ass is still in that changing room, sweetheart. It doesn't take that long to change."

There's a sigh and Kris sounds almost embarrassed. "I think you got the size wrong."

"Excuse you, bitch," Brad plants both hands on his hips. Kris did not just insult his fashion sense! "I know exactly what size you are. Those jeans are absolutely perfect."

"They're too tight," Kris whines and there's a rustle of fabric.

"Your idea of 'too tight' is fashion-conscious people's 'right size'," Brad sniffed. "This is why Adam told me to come with you, you know. You'd just shop at WalMart _again_."

"Nothing wrong with shopping at WalMart," Kris grumbles as he sweeps back the curtain and Brad gives him a critical once-over. The jeans are perfect, the shirt is just the right shade of red...but Brad sighs.

"What's your feeling on turtlenecks?" Brad asks as he thumbs a quick text to Adam.

"I-Oh," Kris touches the mouth-shaped bruises covering his neck and collarbone and goes a very fetching shade of pink even as his scent spikes with heat. Brad clears his throat loud enough to scare off the two store clerks.

"Not really the sort of thing you want your parents to see, am I right?" Brad whisks a scarf off the rack and knots it loosely around his neck. "There, Cheeks saves your ass again. I will be expecting brownies for this, just so you know."

"Thanks, Brad," Kris grins at him and Brad rolls his eyes.

"Less thanking, more getting your ass in gear," Brad's phone buzzes and he waves Kris off to go pay while he deals with the latest drama in Cassidy's life (a new model with a distressing ability to spill shit all over the new clothes). This means that five minutes later, with Cassidy promised cocktails later, Brad has to go rescue Kris from the gaggle of wide-eyed clerks that have surrounded him.

Kris, who really is too sweet sometimes, is talking earnestly with a young woman about chord progression. Brad sighs, just loud enough to make the nervous Wolf in front of him scuttle sideways, and elbows his way through the throng. He winds up right beside Kris who lets Brad lean into his side and smoothly finishes the conversation. Brad takes the dozen or so bags with practiced ease as they turn towards the door.

There's still a knot of people and outside, just barely visible, Brad can see photographers starting to crowd the street. He's not really surprised. They were lucky this morning; setting a new record for the longest time Kris has been out in public without tabloid photographers chasing them through the streets since he and Adam went public six months ago. Still, Brad is tired and gross after three hours intensive shopping and so not in the mood to have his photo taken.

It's Kris who sighs this time and Brad can't help the smirk at the exasperated tinge that rises from his scent. Kris scowls at the photographers for a second and then turns to the nervous Wolf who Brad scared out of his way. Brad takes the nudge to his ribs and pulls out his phone to text Adam again; updating him on the new plan.

Kris' smile is warm and confident and the poor kid doesn't stand a chance. "I don't suppose there's a back way out?"

"Uh-I mean, yes!" The kid perks up like a puppy promised a treat. "Follow me."

Kris rewards the kid with a grateful smile and turns that Alpha charm on the rest of the shop. "I hate to ask, guys, but any chance you could keep them busy for a minute or two?"

The clerks crumble like cheap eye-shadow, even the humans going soft-eyed and nodding eagerly. Kris smiles again and then they're running through the racks, into the bare strip-lit backroom that smells of plastic wrap, exhaust fumes and sweat. Brad lags behind long enough to reassure himself that his hand-picked jeans do indeed flatter Kris' ass.

Kris' head comes up as Brad picks up the pace and they round the corner to where the helpful kid, looking three feet taller and less pitifully adolescent, is holding the door open. He sniffs the air once and his whole face lights up. "Adam's here."

"Less of the starry-eyed Disney moment," Brad groans. "These jeans cost me $150 and if you make me puke all over them, I am so totally billing you for the cost of the dry-cleaning."

He can dimly see Adam's Mustang - _clearly_ the natural choice for a discreet getaway car - and Kris launches himself at it like a homing missile. Brad shakes his head as they dart out past idling trucks and gaping drivers to dive into the car. Adam throws the car in gear and they swing out in a squeal of tires. Brad catches a split-second glimpse of one lone photographer with his camera around his neck and a cigarette dangling from his lips in the alley before the Mustang's engine roars and they cut through the traffic.

The dismal flash from the poor guy's camera is lost in the sea of gleaming chrome. Kris laughs, tucked securely against Adam's side as Brad sits up and tries to sort out the bags of shopping. He can't quite hide the pang of envy as he looks at them curled together and laughing like they're the only two Wolves in the world. Adam is smiling despite his best attempt at a frown and Kris laughs against the side of his throat. Kris' arms are looped around Adam's neck and Adam's fingers are curled into Kris' belt-loops. They're like teenagers, giddy and loving.

In a minute, Brad puts on his Beta hat and clears his throat. He'll remind them that there are a dozen interviews left to do this week alone: that Kris' friend Cale was supposed to meet them for lunch to talk studio times: that Adam's publicist is going to cry and threaten to resign again. He'll remind them that playing games like this doesn't look good for the First Alpha couple. That's Brad's job - to remind them and ground them in their responsibilities to the Pack forming around them - and he does a damn good job of it (if he does say so himself).

In a minute, Brad will do all that. Right now, he turns his attention to the creased and ripped bags and the traffic flashing past the window and just lets them have their Disney-perfect moment.


End file.
